


Coalescence

by SomeBratInAMask



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Pacific Rim, F/F, POV Alternating, Perspective alternates between Moira and Sombra, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-10
Updated: 2018-12-08
Packaged: 2019-05-05 01:12:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,773
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14605926
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SomeBratInAMask/pseuds/SomeBratInAMask
Summary: Reader-Submitted Summary:"Satya Vaswani is attractive and successful. She's smarter than you. She's more distinguished. You kill monsters for a living in a giant robot," Moira listed off. "I doubt you occupy her thoughts anymore than a fly."Olivia considered this. Then, "Well, everyone notices a fly if they're annoying enough, right?"





	1. Break That Mold, Sweetheart

The fighting ring was makeshift, which felt ironic to Olivia since the government had never tightened its defense budget before. There was no rope to mark boundaries; instead, cadets formed a nebulous circle around her. Her water bottle was a few inches from a boy’s bare feet, and though she had warned him not to knock it over, she still kept glancing at him with the expectation he didn’t listen.

The floor was shiny linoleum and Olivia’s latest partner rose up from it. Brigitte’s red hair had been tucked into a bun, but long strands now flew away. The baby hairs on her forehead stuck to her skin from sweat. Brigitte was barely on her feet before she had thrown an accusatory finger at Olivia. _“That_ was underhanded!” she spat.

Olivia shrugged, not offended. She gestured towards Brigitte while looking at the marshal over her shoulder. “She’s not gonna’ work, Marshal. She should’ve seen that coming.”

“How!” Brigitte exclaimed, aghast. _“How_ was I supposed to see — ”

Marshal Oladele dismissed her with a flick of her hands. “Go to the back, cadet. You wouldn’t want to drift with her anyway. O’Deorain, you’re up.”

Moira O’Deorain reminded Olivia of a praying mantis. She was more _long_ than _tall,_ with her skeletal arms that draped down her thighs and her centipede-torso. And that creepy, pointy face that probably looked calm even getting eaten by a kaiju.

Moira stopped a few feet away from Olivia and swung her toothpick arms over her head in a _long_ stretch. “I’m glad I was given the opportunity to watch before engaging,” she commented. “It gives me ideas.”

Olivia arched an eyebrow. “Don’t tell me I’m the first woman you’ve tried that line on,” she quipped, then tightened her grip on her stick and settled into position.

Moira followed suit, retrieving from the floor the stick Brigitte had held earlier. “Amusing,” she replied without amusement.

They stood in thought for a few moments, unlike the previous match; Brigitte had immediately charged her. Olivia contemplated how she might go about stealing Moira’s stick. That train was interrupted by Moira’s abrupt leap. Under a second, Moira was behind Olivia. Just as quickly, Olivia crouched to avoid contact. She countered Moira’s weapon with her own and swept her feet towards Moira. Moira was gone again, halfway across the ring.

“Well, aren’t you fast,” Olivia muttered, already in pursuit. “I’m faster,” she warned.

Changing it up, Moira quit evading suddenly to unleash a series of blows Olivia had to block. “Don’t tell me I’m the first woman you’ve tried _that_ line on,” echoed Moira.

“Clever,” Olivia complimented.

“Thank you.”

“Now _that,_ I’ve heard before.” When their sticks locked again, Olivia gave a swift kick to Moira’s crotch. Olivia didn’t even know her leg could go that high up.

Moira grunted and stumbled backwards. Olivia didn’t hesitate; she feinted at Moira’s neck, then kicked her again in the knee. Moira fell, but rolled before Olivia could land a hit. “Must we continue?” Moira grinded out through her teeth. She kept Olivia at bay long enough to get on her feet.

“Neither of us have gotten a point yet,” said Olivia.

Moira took the offensive the second she was able to. “If you’ve noticed, then you should have reached the same conclusion as I have.”

As soon as the words registered, Olivia halted. Moira’s stick stopped an inch from Olivia’s chest. Olivia turned to Marshal Oladele. “What do you say, Marshal?” she asked.

The marshal appraised the two cadets. “Good enough for me,” she decided. “Lindholm! Return to the mat. I would like to see how you and Ogundimu fair.”

Moira and Olivia cleared the stage for Brigitte and Akande. Olivia swiped her bottle on the way out. “I’ll take this,” she said.

“You two,” stopped the marshal. “I do not remember giving you instructions.”

Olivia hummed sympathetically. “You should try those brain-teaser games. Good for memory; I have a few on my phone, actually — ”

The marshal plowed ahead, and Olivia took it as a good sign that she was close to winning the upperhand someday. “Go to jaeger housing and ask for Satya Vaswani. Tell her you’re getting fitted,” she ordered.

“Sweet,” said Olivia. She waggled her brows at Moira as they walked. “Look at you, only ninety years old and already climbing the ranks. Cadet-no-more,” she commended, smirking up at the praying mantis of a woman.

Moira did not dignify her with eye contact. She towered over Olivia, pale and skinny with red hair on top. Like a flag pole.

“I recognize your efforts to demoralize me, and in response, I must elucidate all the reasons why I am not in the _least_ intimidated,” Moira replied, her pointy nose stuck up in the air.

Olivia waved her hand. “Elucidate away.”

“Firstly, for the time being, it seems we are partners,” she began. “We are clearly expected to drift if not tonight, then tomorrow for sure, and if all goes well, we will be bonded in all future combat. Therefore, not only are we equals physically and mentally, but I will have access to all the fears, traumas, and insecurities you keep repressed.”

Olivia drink from her bottle, wiping water that dripped down from her chin. “Super. Loving this conversation so far.”

Moira continued. “Secondly, my age has bestowed upon me all that youth has withheld from _you._ I have wisdom and experience that trumps prodigy, however much the world has suffered to convince you otherwise with its pandering stupidity and eager accolades.”

“Got me there, abuela,” Olivia said, gesturing to Moira with her water bottle.

“And _yes,_ Olivia, I could be your progenitor if, instead of being an accomplished bio-engineer and imminent jaeger pilot, I was deceased beneath the foot of a kaiju with a child beside me crying out for her mami,” Moira finished, her tone having barely sharpened throughout her speech.

Olivia twisted the lid shut on her bottle and tried not to think about her childhood home, how it looked like the house she made out of popsicle sticks after it fell off her dresser. “Remind me not to invite you to sharing time anymore,” she muttered.

“Others have the internet, too, _Sombra,”_ Moira warned. “And if it’s any consolation, I think my not being your mother worked out in both our favors. I can’t imagine I’d have much of a career if I was a mother at eighteen. Nor would you have gotten to play the Robin Hood of government secrets and wound up having value to those in power.”

“Eh, who knows,” said Olivia lightly, just for something to say. Real joy had been choked out by Moira by this point, she made sure of _that._ Olivia thought about that video she had watched once, praying mantis versus wasp. The mantis had won.

The rest of their walk was spent mostly in silence that was punctuated only by Olivia’s occasional chatter, which she kept up to prove that Moira’s little speech had no real effect on her. The base had seen better days. The kaiju attack had destroyed the majority of technological advancements they had made in the last decade. Recruitment couldn’t afford to be as picky, either, and that’s why old dogs like Moira and Olivia were mixing it up with kids as young as sixteen.

Admittedly, it was embarrassing to play pupil to teenagers. Olivia was lucky in a way, having Moira — her ego couldn’t take it if she had been paired with someone better than her at twenty years old. That was the case for Dragonblade’s pilots, Genji and Tekhartha; Tekhartha had been Genji’s mentor despite being fifteen years his junior. After Genji graduated basic training, the two drifted.

The kaiju attack had also done a number on the infrastructure. Repairments were in rapid progress, but chunks of wall were still missing here and there. Jaegers unattended at the time of the assault were out of commission for the foreseeable future, although all hands were on deck in fixing the ones that could be fixed and salvaging parts of those that couldn’t.

At the door to the jaeger room, Moira flashed her badge at the scanner and was granted clearance. Olivia entered behind her. The ceiling had been reduced to a tarp hundreds of feet above them. Construction workers hung from rafters all around the place, like carpenter ants indistinguishable from each other, totally occupied by a task greater than them.

Moira’s head was tilted upwards, her eyes assessing the swarming activities. “You would think they’d focus on upgrading, rather than replacing,” she commented.

“This _is_ the planet that thinks a giant wall is our best plan of action,” Olivia replied.

“Indeed,” murmured Moira. “Perhaps I have been too optimistic in my predictions for Earth’s survival.”

Olivia was trying to find someone who looked like they knew shit. “Oh, you definitely have, if survival is still in your vocabulary,” she agreed. “I’m keeping my expectations low here. Hey, excuse me!” she called out.

She caught the attention of a nearby security guard whom she asked where they could find a Satya Vaswani. The guard directed them towards the elevator, level four, door thirteen. “Gracias,” Olivia thanked.

“That guard didn’t even ask who we were,” Moira remarked with shock.

Olivia pressed the button for level four, then jabbed the the close button repeatedly until the elevator doors finally shut. “Makes things easier for us,” she said.

“Easier for _everyone,”_ Moira amended. There was a dark edge to her voice.

“Don’t worry,” said Olivia flatly. She was watching the digital numbers go up on the screen. “I’m sure guards check for credentials on kaiju.”

The lift settled and the doors parted on level four. Olivia was out first. Behind her, Moira said, “It is the enemies we do not see that threaten us the most.”

Olivia pretended to think about it for a second. “Nah, I’m gonna’ say it’s the colossal alien monsters capable of ripping ceilings off metal buildings that we should watch out for,” she decided.

Moira was right, of course. But Olivia wasn’t in the habit of looking gift horses in the mouth. She had made her name out of slack security. She wasn’t about to make things harder for herself in the event that a situation ever arose begging for her interference.

“The numbers four and thirteen are considered inauspicious by many,” Moira informed. “Four’s ill repute originates from China, where both its Cantonese and Mandarin pronunciations sound similar to their words for death. Thirteen, meanwhile, has several negative associations.”

The two of them halted at the same narrow door. A name plate made of printer paper announced _Satya Vaswani._ A metallic _13_ had been nailed to the center of the door. Moira tapped her wicked long nails against the number. “None of these associations prove definitive for its cultural making, but it _is_ tickling that thirteen adds to four. So circular,” she mused.

Olivia circled Moira and poised her fist a few inches from the door. “Well,” she remarked, “if we find a dead Indian woman in here, we’ll be filing a complaint.”

Moira chuckled slightly as Olivia knocked on the door.

_“Come in.”_

Olivia looked at Moira. “Sounds alive enough to me,” she said and pushed the door open.

Satya Vaswani did not look up from the desk she was hunched over. When Olivia tried to speak, Satya held up a single finger with her left hand. Olivia fell silent and exchanged confused glances with Moira.

The office was small, neat, and decorated so precisely it mimicked a catalogue. There were no signs of life — no scattered paperwork, no coffee mugs, even the two tiny potted plants on the wall-shelf were artificial. Between them was a framed certificate, measuring no taller than the plants, of some program she had completed.

Moira and Olivia stood by for an idle minute where the only sounds were breathing and the occasional click of a computer mouse. Moira broke the quiet. “I apologize, it appears we have caught you occupied. You were not expecting us; we will wait outside.”

“I expected you,” Satya disagreed. She still had not turned from her desk. “These are my office hours; walk-in’s are automatically expected. Have a seat and I will be with you once I have finished my initial task.”

Off to the side were two chairs flush against the wall. An end table punctuated the middle. “Yes, ma’am,” said Olivia with less respect than the words alone denoted. Moira and Olivia sat themselves down. Olivia took the time to inspect the room. There really wasn’t much to look at, although the end table featured quite the interesting statuette. It was clearly one of the Hindu goddesses, her bronze breasts covered by a necklace of skulls. Multiple arms sprouted from her body. Many of them held weapons. A large crown balanced on her head and a long tongue protruded down her chin from her open mouth. Gold bangles wrapped around her ankles. A man lay prone beneath her foot.

After some time, Satya spun around in her chair. She had thick black hair that cascaded down her shoulders, which were covered by a crisp, blue button-down shirt. A pair of glasses rested at the bridge of a long but refined nose. The cuff of her right-side sleeve revealed a prosthetic limb. “Guessing from your informal attire, you two have finished drift-sparring,” she surmised. Her voice possessed a light accent, and she spoke with careful precision. Each word seemed measured; the length between each one, tailored to be neither fast nor slow, emphasized nor slurred.

Olivia privately felt she was rather attractive in that aloof, untouchable way. Like how a diamond necklace is beautiful in a locked display case. Of course, locks never carried much weight with Olivia. “That’s right, chica,” she confirmed. “I’m Olivia Colomar and carrot-top here is Moira O’D.”

“O’Deorain,” Moira amended. “Marshal Oladele instructed us to come here for our jaeger assignment.”

Satya drew up a little as if surprised. She brought the tips of her artificial fingers to her chin in a contemplative gesture. “She must have Coalescence in mind for you two,” she said.

Olivia leaned forward in her chair. “Is that a who or a what?” she asked. This was finally going somewhere — somewhere exciting, with any luck.  

Satya opened her mouth to respond, but Moira beat her to the punch. “You pose incredibly philosophical and fraught question,” she mused. She directed her gaze towards Satya, whose own gaze was still fixed at a corner. “I presume Coalescence, in this case, would be our assigned jaeger?”

Satya dropped her hand from her face. “Not exactly. It has yet to be approved for combat.”

Olivia let the news sink in. As she did, she began to slump in her seat. “So, what you’re saying is, we can’t actually use it?”

“Not in battle. But having virgin drift pilots for it would actually be quite conducive to its beta testing.”

“Is there a reason experienced pilots might test lackluster in Coalescence?” Moira inquired.

“They _have_ tested lackluster,” corrected Satya. “I attribute their performances to a lack of imagination,” she justified. “Coalescence’s technology is different from that found in any previous model more familiar to seasoned pilots. It requires forward thinking, which — ”

“Is uncommon among _common_ minds,” Moira finished for her.

A brief moment passed. Then, “Apparently,” Satya decided.

“Then this shall be a propitious assignment,” Moira praised. “For my partner and I are plenty innovative, and unshackled by redundant teachings.”

Olivia tried to send Moira a doubtful look, but she was being ignored. Ironic, considering Moira had no qualms including her in these high expectations. _If you can’t beat them,_ thought Olivia. “Yup, we’re what you need to break that mold, sweetheart,” Olivia seconded with a wink and a half-hearted fingergun.

Satya nodded minutely. “Yes,” she murmured. “And then we may create a better mold by which to train future pilots.”

“One with better form,” Moira added.

Olivia sat up straighter. “Or, you know, we could just throw the mold out altogether,” she proposed, hoping to contribute intelligently. Neither woman acknowledged her.

Olivia backtracked. “If we’re sticking with this analogy, that is. We can keep the mold.” She waved her hand. “I’m indifferent towards the takeaway here, I just plan to get in the robot and drive.”

Satya fixed her eyes on Olivia. There was something mechanical about her gaze. “It will not be as simple as that, Cadet Colomar. You must keep in mind that Coalescence is in beta.”

Olivia hummed thoughtfully and relaxed in her seat again. This would obviously require more patience than she had anticipated. But the payoff could be greater than anticipated too. Not only would she be a jaeger pilot; she’d be a pioneer. News channels would focus on her. If she did well, she’d accumulate higher regard and funding than her peers. This could go really well for her. “Alright, I’m game,” she decided.

Satya’s expression turned confused.

Moira gave Olivia a critical look. “This was not a matter of choice for us. This is our assignment.”

Olivia waved her away. “Hey, I said I’m game. You don’t have to keep convincing me, you know?”

“You are tiresome,” said Moira.

Satya pushed the conversation forward. “Right. Well, then, so long as you two are available, I can demonstrate a virtual tour of Coalescence.” She spun in her chair and began setting something up on her computer. Then she stood and walked over to the table in the center of the room. Olivia had a moment to admire Ms. Vaswani’s thighs, which nicely filled out her otherwise shapeless slacks.

Olivia tilted her head, unexpectedly pleased. Satya, meanwhile, pressed a button on the table. Pixels appeared above the surface, glitching in and out, until gradually they formed a holographic jaeger. “Cadets, may I introduce you to Coalescence,” she announced — and though her face remained mostly stoic, there seemed the slightest pride in the pull of her lips.

 


	2. Choice

Moira scraped her pencil across the paper until the tip broke off. She drew the pencil back, not moving to sharpen it. She just looked at what she had drawn: a metal sleeve fit for a forearm, its inner details drawn in circles around it. There were slightly smudged wires and notes barely legible to anyone but herself. 

Moira flexed her hands. She longed to touch the real thing, to toy with her shelved inventions instead of merely sketching them over and over, as if she might discover something new with the same old tools. “Infuriating,” she muttered under her breath. “Infuriatingly redundant.”

“Did you say something?”

Moira turned her head at the newcomer’s voice. Doors were to be left open in the night hours, and her roommate Angela Ziegler was standing in the threshold. The poor lighting of the hallway bled into her blonde hair, burning her crown a tinge of red. 

“Nothing important,” Moira answered. She tossed the pencil onto the desk. “It’s rare I produce anything of salience here, let alone with words,” she said with exhaustion. 

Angela dutifully left the door open behind her. She sat on her bed, peeling off her boots as she spoke. “It sounds like you chose the wrong career path.”

Moira rubbed her chin. She wondered, briefly, if the sleeve was worth another sketch. “Choice had nothing to do with it,” she muttered, closing the sketchbook. She stood from her chair and deposited her materials into her personal safe. When Moira turned around, Angela was sitting pretzel-style atop her mattress.

“Were you drafted?” Angela asked, pausing in the middle of undoing her bun. Blonde waves cascaded down her slender shoulders, curling messily around her face and frizzing where the elastic still clung. 

Moira shifted her gaze away from her. “The world has a dearth of qualified jaeger pilots, making educated minds priceless on the battlefield.” Moira had already changed into sleepwear, so all she needed to do was pull back the blanket on her own bed and slide between the sheets, which she did. “In times of crisis, it would appear that chessmasters are as sacrificial as the pawns they used to play,” she mused, settling onto the thin pillow. 

Angela’s lips were pressed together but Moira detected a slight pulling upwards at the corner. A smile, however small. “So, yes?” asked Angela.

Moira nodded. “Yes.” She watched her roommate go through her bed-readying process. Hair, pajamas, teeth, face. It was like watching one of those beauty queens on TV with the skincare routines, the face masks, and the little ribbons in their brushed hair. Moira just didn’t know what to make of her. There was something so polished about her even in the barracks. Moira tended to wear whatever light Overwatch apparel the military gave out to bed, and that was if she didn’t crash in her civis first. But Angela got dolled up to stay in.

“Maybe she knows something you don’t,” Colomar had said once when Moira brought the topic up. Her plain Overwatch tee was puddling beneath her pits as it often did — Colomar’s body temp ran warm, as she often complained about — and she wasn’t stopping her spoon-to-mouth groove for the conversation. Moira could feel her appetite wane at the bits of mashed potato on Colomar’s tongue.   
“Like what?” Moira had asked, swallowing a spoonful of mashed potatoes that irrationally tasted of saliva.

“I don’t know, a photo op probably. There’s candids everywhere online, I wouldn’t be surprised if we log-on to Reddit some day to pictures of us drooling all on our pillows.”

“If we do, it’s likely because you took them,” Moira replied. Colomar had just shrugged.

Right now, Angela was wearing some modern nightgown Moira might’ve seen in commercials when she still had cable. What a waste that bill was. There was some tiny lace at the top near the breasts and by the bottom around her thighs. The fabric hitched up past by her knee as she crawled into her bed.

Moira rolled onto her back so even if she didn’t close her eyes, all she’d see was the ceiling.

“Good night, Moira,” Angela said. She always used Moira’s first name. That wasn’t special; she used everyone’s first name. 

Moira sighed. Tried to remember how tired she had been a minute ago. “Good night,” she began before faltering on Angela’s name. She was never sure whether to return Angela’s familiarity. Moira wasn’t big on the familiar, but it did seem overly callous to just call her Ziegler. So she left it at that: good night. 

Angela’s breathing evened first. Her breaths soon lulled Moira to sleep. 


End file.
